


The Path Homeward

by Waning_Grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:11:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waning_Grace/pseuds/Waning_Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's injured and exhausted but he's determined to keep on hunting until he finds his wayward brother</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path Homeward

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short drabble I wrote after hearing Sam's line in 10X2: "You're my brother and I'm here to take you home." Contains some foul language.

“You’re my brother, Dean, and I’m here to take you home.” Sam says, and he means it. Suddenly the past six weeks since Dean up and disappeared hardly matter—the long nights, the endless searching and countless dead ends…All of it pales in comparison to having Dean standing in front of him, breathing and safe(ish?), and utterly _alive_. Sam could weep from the sheer joy as it zings its way through his veins because all this time this was all he really wanted: absolute proof that Dean’s here and alive and everything else can just fall by the wayside because one way or the other they’re going to be okay.

 

He takes a small, measured step forward, his eyes firmly fixed upon his brother who’s watching Sam’s every move like a cornered animal might. It’s hardly surprising; Dean’s a _demon_ and despite Sam’s internal joy otherwise over having finally found the stubborn bastard Dean clearly doesn’t share the sentiment. It’s confirmed a moment later when Dean speaks: “And what if I don’t want to go with you?” He asks, tone trying just a bit too hard for nonchalant as his green eyes continue to track Sam. “I told you to let me go.”

 

Sam has to bite back a combination of a snort and an eye roll because, of course, Dean isn’t going to make this easy for him. Not that he really expected him too; Sam came prepared after all, the demon-warded handcuffs are a reassuring weight nestled conveniently out of sight inside his sling.  “Who says you’re going to get a choice?” He parries back, proud of the fact that his voice manages to remain steady. “You should know me better than that, man, I ain’t letting you go.” The ‘at least not without a fight’ remains unspoken although it manages to hang heavily in the air between them nevertheless. They’re at a stalemate, eyes locked as they both wait for the other to make the first move. Sam uses the moment to prepare himself—he doesn’t want to fight his brother, but he’s prepared to do whatever he has to in order to get Dean back.

 

Whereas Sam is trying to mentally prep himself for the beat down that’s inevitably going to happen Dean can’t help but unleash the smirk that’s been tugging at his lips since his brother first came stumbling into this bar. _Really Sammy? Think you can take me?_ He mentally taunts as his gaze rakes over his younger brother’s body. It’s pitifully obvious the kid hasn’t been taking care of himself: even at this distance he reeks of coffee and the exhaustion is plain as day upon his face and Dean finds he can’t resist baiting the hook just a little. “You look like a raccoon!” He taunts with an eye roll thrown in for good measure because, seriously? “What’s the game plan here Sammy? Planning on taking a nap on me? Or are you planning on trying to club me to death with that busted arm of yours, huh? You look like a good gust of wind could blow you right over and yet you think you can take me on?”

 

For a few seconds Sam lets the words wash over him and knock him off his metaphorical feet before anger swoops in and has him jutting out his jaw in that classic defiance that clearly screams that he’s not impressed with Dean’s attempts to rattle him. “I think you’re just afraid that I could take you easily.” He boasts, fully aware that he’s probably biting off more than he can possibly chew but he doesn’t give a damn. "Why don’t you put your money where your big mouth is?” He glowers, his good arm reaching back to slowly remove something from the waistband of his jeans. Under the dim bar lights Ruby’s knife appears to glow faintly as Sam adjusts it in his hand, tightening his grip, as he holds it up at the ready. “I’m game if you are.”

 

The demon-bitch’s pig sticker, of course. Dean barely spares it a glance before his eyes lock on to Sam’s face once more. His brother is clearly exhausted and injured yet he’s too damn stubborn to back down and if he won’t there’s no way in hell (ha!) that Dean’s going to do it for him. If it’s a fight Sammy wants it’s a fight he’s going to get… Pushing off from where he was leaning against the bar, Dean straightens to his full height and holds his hands out preparation. “Well then let’s see what you got little brother,” He rumbles, “Bring it on.”

 

_This isn’t what I wanted_ , Sam reflects bitterly as he widens his stance, watching Dean with a wary eye. He knew going in it wasn’t going to be an easy task to get Dean to go back with him, if nothing else the past few weeks have made it abruptly clear that Dean can be a stubborn (and crafty) S.O.B. when he wants to be, but that doesn’t mean he wants to fight his brother. Unfortunately Dean’s right too: Sam’s totally not up for this. He’s been running on coffee and fumes for god-knows-how long now and his muscles, his shoulder and head especially, are still painfully throbbing in tune with his heartbeat from his earlier torture session. But… _In for a penny, in for a pound..._ Sam manages to think right before Dean lunges at him.

 

Turns out Dean’s much faster as a demon—there’s simply no dodging him and there’s nowhere to go but down. Sam drops like a sack of flour against the hard floor, just barely swallowing down the yelp of pain that wants to escape his throat as his damaged shoulder meets unforgiving wood. Thankfully years of hunting instinct kick in and even before he has caught his breath back, he’s bucking and swinging the knife ‘round to dislodge Dean off him. If the flash of red light and accompanying growl of pain are any indication it works, though there’s no time to enjoy his victory before Sam’s being pummeled by Dean’s fists…

 

~*~

 

In the end there’s low groans of pain coming from both sides and Sam’s barely hanging on by a thread (he’s ninety-nine percent sure he has at least a couple of cracked ribs if they aren’t broken outright) but he did it: the demon-warding cuffs are on Dean and, for the time being at least, his brother is no longer fighting him. Again, it’s a far cry from how Sam had visualized things playing out in his head when he came in this bar in the first place, but as he slowly staggers his way to his feet uncaring of the sounds of pain that pour from him as he does so, he realizes he’ll take it. A few wobbly steps take him, and very nearly face-plant him because god he _hurts_ , to where Dean’s hunched on the floor, cuffed hands held to the side of his still-bleeding head as he glares up at Sam. “I’ll get you for this,” He vows, the words a deep-throated growl of promise. “And when I do don’t expect any mercy.”

 

In the heart of the moment Sam couldn’t frankly care less. Dean’s cuffed, he’s still able to (somewhat) move and for now he’s got the upper hand and they both know it. What could possibly happen later is just that, later, and therefore Sam’s willing to burn that bridge when he comes across it. For now he’s exhausted and hurting and is so, so done with all this shit. Very carefully, blinking back the black spots that threaten to crowd his vision as he does so, Sam leans down and hooks a few fingers around the length of chain that stretches between the two cuffs. “I hear ya,” he tells Dean tiredly, pointedly meeting his sibling’s eyes. “But for now we’re going home.”


End file.
